


Shadows of War, Daryl’s Journals and Letters Home

by 1lostone



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Epistolary, Letters, M/M, Vietnam War, companion fic, epistolary fic, journal style, twdobsessive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-12-21 13:47:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11945544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1lostone/pseuds/1lostone
Summary: A first person view of Daryl's letters and Journals during his time in Vietnam.Note.... This ficlet will make NO SENSE if you haven't read TWDObsessive'sShadows of War, 1969,linked below.  It will be posted on Tuesdays and Thursdays, echoing her fic.





	1. #1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shadows of War, 1969](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11941452) by [TWDObsessive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TWDObsessive/pseuds/TWDObsessive). 



> Why Vietnam? 
> 
> Well, I have always had a weird obsession with this entire era. Several of my family members were activists in protests, or served in Vietnam, so yeah you can imagine the Christmas dinners were pretty interesting. 
> 
> All joking aside, these are fictionalized accounts of my father and uncle's real-life experiences, so I drew very heavily from them as inspiration. I make no claims to being perfectly historically accurate.

> No one fuckin told me that I’d have a rash for three weeks out of a month. It’s like living in someone’s asscrack: hot, humid, and smelly. When it isn’t hot, it’s still humid as hell and smelly, only wet with the downpour that goes on and on and fucking _on_. In short, it sucks. The guys and me all laughed about the grinning, smug-as-shit draft board, and those dirty bastards during basic, but none of those assholes ever told us that it was the day-to-day shit that would drive ya nutty. I’d probably sell my nutsack for some Gold Bond, not that anyone would want mine for collateral. Ain’t exactly AR I know. Sweaty, midges, mosquitoes as big as your fucking hand, rain, more fucking rain, a little more rain, and mud. But it isn’t all bad. The rain sometimes makes me feel clean again, and not just from the stink of marching through this jungle for days on end. Like so many other things here it’s beautiful. Can be annoying. Often dangerous. God, I want to go _home_. Or at least make this goddamn rain **STOP**.

 

* * *

 

AR - Army Regulation


	2. #2

> One of the craziest things about being out here is writing.

> You wait and wait for letters to get to you. We might go for three weeks with just C-Rations and the shit we carry on our backs, but letters are like goddamn clockwork to Bob and the Lieutenant and the other guys. I decided that I was over waiting, and just decided to write to myself. It ain’t much. A little red bound notebook and a plastic bag with those fancy new zip tops to make sure it don’t get wet, and I got me a journal.

> Maybe I am goin’ crazy.

> I know I gotta always watch my back, and respect the officers that are over me, and I try. God knows that the Lieutenant is a crazy bastard, but he always does right by all of us. I have watch at 03:00 so I need to finish this quick, but I also can’t work with this shit in my head. Sometimes I wish I still believed in God. Would make some of this make sense, maybe.

> Around 09:00 we got the call from Base that the LZ near... shit. I can’t remember the name of the town. But the LZ was hot. Red hot. We were suited up and dropped as close to the CA as we could get without flying the Huey up the ass of Charlie. And then it happened. SOP had us on what we thought was a fairly standard S&D. Combat brought down the area we was told was all VC. It was a school. All those... all those kids. So much smoke and screaming, and I wasn’t able to help anyone. They wouldn’t take my help. Running, screaming with their flesh cooking off their bones, and they didn’t want to see an American face.

> Who could fuckin blame them.?

 

 

* * *

 

 

C-Rations: Standard,normal rations to eat. 

CA: Combat Assault- Term used when dropping soldiers into a LZ.

Charlie: slang for the Viet Cong.

Huey: Helicopter. 

LZ: Landing Zone- where helicopters would land to evac or drop off soldiers, wounded, and medics. 

SOP: Standard Operating Procedure

S&D: Search and Destroy

VC: Viet Cong


	3. #3

> Merle,

> Thanks for the smokes, asshole, but you forgot a lighter. You think I’m pullin a book of matches out of my ass so that I can light up?

> We’re going out on a night run tomorrow, and I’m writing before all the shit hits the fan in the way it seems to more likely than not lately. It’s pretty here at night. Made me think of other nights that I was awake when I shoulda been asleep. You remember that night-- I think maybe I was thirteen or fourteen-- and dad was drunk as hell and you and him had gotten into it because he’d dislocated my arm? You found me on the roof and had cussed me up one side and down the other because I’d gone out there with only one working arm. You didn’t have the money for a visit to the Doc ‘cuz dad had drank up all our emergency money. But even with all that, you came out through the attic window to find me (don’t think I don’t know that you’re scared shitless of heights, asshole.) and had sat besides me looking out into the night. The tin of the roof was still warm from the sun, even though the night was a little cold. I remember you’d gone to the A&P and gotten me a root beer before they closed, and I thought I was such hot shit because my root beer bottle and your beer bottle looked the same when we clinked necks. You must have sat out there with me for two hours that night, not really talkin’ or anything, but just making sure I knew I was wanted.

> Miss you big brother.

> Thanks for the smokes.

> Daryl


	4. #4

> Merle,
> 
> I’m sitting on a beach of all the damn places. I think there’s a hospital base nearby, but Uncle Sam in all his glory scooped us up in a couple of Cobras and dumped us into the middle of a big barbecue beach party. There’s a bunch of men here surfing, and some nurses in bikinis with damn near twenty hopeful men sniffin’ around them like damn bees to a flower.  We have steaks and chicken and corn on the grill, some really mellow grass, and enough beer to supply Atlanta during the Fourth of July weekend.  It’s fuckin’ unreal. Six hours ago I was on patrol in the middle of the goddamn jungle. 
> 
> There’s this weird edge of desperation to all the celebrations, though, like everyone is just kind of pushing themselves into havin a good time, all the while knowing what’s gonna happen when our little R&R is over.
> 
> I’m trying not to think of that, though. 
> 
> I’m sitting on a blanket near this tough little thing who has nagged a bunch of guys into rolling some of the less mobile out to the sand to enjoy the sun. I think her name is Taral or something, and I gotta laugh at the way she’s running shit like a little general. Hell, I’ve seen generals that haven’t gotten this much done in as much time. She’s looked over here a few times with this worried little tilt of her head as she sees me sitting by myself and writing in this notebook, but she’s not come over to bother me. I’m grateful. The sun is hot on my shoulders, and the beach sounds like a dream. I could sleep if I thought I wouldn’t wake up screamin. 
> 
> I know what you’re thinking, big brother, and the answer is no. Sex is damn near the last thing I’m thinking about. The guys here though. . . shit. You’d think they never got any before. To be honest all this seems a bit like those guys out there, fiercely trying to have all the fun they can while they can. . . cuz they know it’s gonna end sooner rather than later. I guess what I want most is someone I can be myself with, you know? Someone who ain’t gonna flinch every time I let a little of  me slip through.
> 
> But that’s some thoughts for another day. Right now I think I’m gonna get me another hunk of meat and sip a beer while the sun goes down over the water.   
>    
> 
> 
> D.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Hey guys. Sorry that I haven't been posting on the same schedule as TWDObsessive. I've been preparing for Hurricane Irma, and this is the first chance I've had to sit down and post!
> 
> If the next parts are late, then you know why.)
> 
> Thanks to lotr58 for looking this over! 
> 
> See ya on the flipside!!


	5. #5

> Music is fuckin amazing.  We don’t get much, to be honest. Sometimes we pick up some local crap if we’re not too deep in the mountains, but sometimes we do get some of the military stations. There’s this one DJ that the Lieutenant always tries to catch that plays actual rock and roll. Some Beach Boys, some Doors, and of course the Beatles come through those speakers, and you can bet your ass that some of this endless shit goes away. Usually we hear classical stuff, which don’t get me wrong... it can take you away too. But it’s different, somehow. 
> 
> I never thought I’d really be someone who connects with tunes in that way. But hell. You hear the tophat off the snare or a bass one-two one-two and I practically turn into a damn teenager again. 
> 
> Gotta say- it’s nice. 
> 
> Somethin’ to look forward to, anyway. 


	6. #6

> I can’t. 
> 
> I can’t do this anymore. I ain’t suicidal, but if I got a stray bullet that got me the fuck out of here I can’t say it would upset me. 
> 
> There’s no point. What’s the  _ point  _ of all of this shit?  These people don’t give a rat’s ass about democracy.  We’re here to end Communism?   _Puh-leeze._  Half the time we can’t find our damn hand at the end of our fuckin wrists-- how we gonna change some backward society with _napalm_? 
> 
> God I can’t get the smell out of my nose. I can’t sleep. I can’t dream. Any little noise makes me feel like I’m gonna piss myself. 
> 
> Morales said he has something that will “calm my shit down”. We’ll see I guess. Hell, even tranqued off my balls this whole place would still be a nightmare. But maybe I can get some fuckin sleep. 
> 
> Please.


	7. #7

 

> Merle,
> 
> Had the strangest thing happen to me. Surreal. Almost, fuzzy around the edges, like looking at an old memory. Thought I should write it down before I forget.
> 
> You know that not every hamlet or village is bad. Sometimes we do good stuff here- real humanitarian shit that makes me feel good. One of those things was a water purification system. I guess something had happened to the wells here and the people were getting sick from the bad water.
> 
> Betcha didn’t know I was a water expert, eh?
> 
> Turns out we had to move the well, but to do so, we had to divert a stream. Man,  you woulda thought it was a national holiday with all the water. Some old men types caught fish, and most of the men in the company shared their rations. Seems cruel not to. We knew after this we were due some R&R and these people had fuck all.  So picture the stream, a tiny little thing, maybe a few feet wider than the one by old Crosta’s place that we used to drink and fish at.  Damming it up caused a lake to form, and quicker’n’ a shot, there were maybe 40 people there, fishing, playing in the water, washing clothes, swimming, filling jugs, whatever they could do.  Was like a damn party.
> 
> I don’t think I ever laughed so much. The kids would play this elaborate game that involved some weird-looking dominoes, and they’d bet on the sweets we’d managed to scrape up. One little dude, maybe 30 lbs soaking wet, was bossing just about all our company, all the younger kids, and all the ladies around like it was nothing. Little twerp ended up with most of the candy, too.
> 
> It was so funny, and kind of cute. And damn nice as we sat there, smoking by the lake we’d made and watching the sun go down.  Felt like I could breathe, you know? For the first time in forever. The next day we got the well dug, and shored up, and filled with cool, clean, dark water and I swear to god, man, I’ve never felt so much like a hero in my damn life.
> 
> And all without any of us speakin the other’s language. Crazy, huh?
> 
> D-
> 
> [later]
> 
> PS
> 
> Two weeks later we went through again. Some fucker called a SD and burnt the place to the ground. The well was ransacked, and most of the people dead. Place looked like a bomb had gone off. Never found the kid. I’m kind of glad, really. Hope the little dude is okay.
> 
> But I know better.

 

* * *

 

SD-  Search & Destroy mission. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post again! 
> 
> I'm back, and posted chapters 5-7, so am caught up again. :)


	8. #8

> Merle,
> 
>  
> 
> You wouldn’t believe the shit I can get my hands on over here. I used to think that a little grass and some beer was just about the end all and be all of recreational states of mind. Boy oh boy was I wrong.  I can make a bong out of just about anything, including shells and once an empty syringe. I think rolling papers are more precious than toilet paper around here. 
> 
> There are uppers to keep you going, and poppers that keep you alert.There’s tranqs if you can’t sleep, and coke if you sleep too much.  Some of the guys like cocaine because that shit is so cheap over here it’s almost ridiculous. Same with heroin, but I ain’t into any of that harder shit. Figure the last damn thing I need right now is to be off my nut while trying to tiptoe through Charlie’s backyard. Most guys just get the codeine out of cough syrup anyway. There is stuff that makes you-- and I shit you not big brother--  _ see sounds-.  _ You’ve tried to get me to drop acid before and I wasn’t really planning on it, you know? Same thing with needing all my brain cells working in the same direction. I can’t even remember now who came up with it, or why we all thought it’d be a good idea. But guys out here are really into the idea of expanding the _mind_ , man, and LSD is their go-to. 
> 
> The comedown though. I never want to feel that again. Ain’t never been so paranoid in my life, although weirdly the only thing I could think of was Old Missus Carpenter looking over the top of her glasses at me when I was too loud in the library. You know the stare that I mean. Judgment of all judgements. 
> 
> Not sure where I was going with this. 
> 
> Oh. 
> 
> Sorry about that. My point was that we sometimes get _Life_ _Magazines_ here. Some dude’s girlfriend or mom will send them that or an old _Newsweek_ , and they’re always asking what the “experience” is like. Hand to god, Merle. The “experience” is total shit. I’m glad you’re not here. Still no idea on when my tour is over but I cannot fucking wait. Sorry man. The days and nights tend to get turned around. I haven’t known what day of the week it was for a long goddamn time. I dream about you and me and a few cold beers and sweet, summer nights with not a goddamn thing to do. 
> 
> Oh, and if you think of it- I can use some more smokes. Thanks, man.
> 
> Daryl


	9. #9

> Uncle Sam- You Absolute Fucking **Bastard**    
>  Local Draft Board No 11  
>  Federal Building  
>  10000 Liberty Lane  
>  Pittsburgh, PA, 15---
> 
>  
> 
> Fuck you. 
> 
> **FUCK.** **YOU.**
> 
> FUCKING FUCK _YOU_ , YOU FUCKING _**FUCKS**_.
> 
> **F**
> 
> **U**
> 
> **C**
> 
> **K**
> 
> **Y**
> 
> **O**
> 
> **U**
> 
>  
> 
> Fucked,
> 
>    
>  PFC Daryl Dixon  
>  Somewhere In The Fucking Jungle
> 
> P.S. 
> 
> Seriously. Fuck you guys. 
> 
>  


	10. #10

 

> One of the guys got a Hallmark card from one of the chicks he’d been a pen pal with. I don’t think they’d ever met-- or maybe it was just someone he knew in passing.  Don’t really matter I guess. The front was a sunset over this bridge. On the bridge were a couple of waterfowl, and they cast shadows on the water. This water sparkled in the dying light like some kind of gem.  There weren’t any words on the front, but on the inside she’d snuck a bunch of Jucyfruit past the people that check our mail before we get it-- well, that or the poor, nameless PFC fucker felt sorry for Bob and thought he needed some gum.  When you opened the card, it reeked of spearmint, and since ain’t nobody gonna read this little notebook of mine, I can admit straight out that it made me cry. I had to turn my face away, but imagining the scene on the lake where me and Merle fish, and the smell of that damn gum made me miss home so fucking much I couldn’t stand it.
> 
>  
> 
> Bob would sniff the card like it was some racy perfume, and lightly touch the words written there in pink ink, ‘be safe and come home to us soon’ over and over and over- so much that he smudged the ink a little.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope for him that he does get to go home soon. Be with that girl of his-- chew some gum with her in peace and safety. I want that so much for him.
> 
>  
> 
> Ain’t prayed in a long time. Not sure if there’s a God, or if the dude is takin requests given the huge clusterfuck that this past year has been.  But. Please? Please. If you can hear this. . . make sure Bob gets home safe.
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> PFC- Private First Class- a Military ranking.


	11. #11

 

>  
> 
> Merle,
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry man but I gotta get this off my chest.  
> 
> It’s been a helluva first three weeks over here in Vietnam. I’m settling in okay. I learned to keep my gun dry, and you never, ever, wanted to eat the ‘tuna surprise’ rations unless you want to fart fish for the next three days.  I like all the guys in my company.  It’s not really Military regs, but we never seem to call each other by our last name. It’s T-Dog, Patrick, Bob, Randall, Nicholas, Daryl, and Lieutenant Ford.  One thing about the Lieutenant is that you for damn sure knew when he was pissed off. That was the only time he got real, _real_ , and I mean if you knew this cat you’d know I mean **_real _** pissed off, because he was loud as hell when he was smiling, or laughing, or eating, hell, even takin’ a piss. It’s unreal. I mean, don’t get me wrong. He could yell if you fucked up, and he’d damn sure holler at you to get down if Charlie was about to bring the fight a little too close, but when Ford hit that level of rage, we got real damn particular with our ‘yessirs’ and ‘nosirs’. So when Lieutenant Ford shouts out “STOOKEY! GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR!” I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.  What the hell was a Stookey?  Then it clicked when I saw Bob running towards the Lieutenant’s bellow like his ass was on fire. I followed, because I thought I could be a help.  We saw him there with his big, freckled arms buried in T-Dog’s guts, trying to keep his insides from bein’ on the outside. Bob stopped as though he hit a wall before folding himself down on the other side to help, but I didn’t realize why until after everything was done. One of T-Dog’s hands was bein’ held by Patrick, and the other held by Nicky, with Randall on point watching over them with his AK, eyes full of tears but his face cold and blank with rage.  Tell the truth, there wasn’t much for me to do, ‘cept hand Bob the shit he needed. Wasn’t much he could do. He gave T-Dog some M&M’s, (we kept those around when things was real bad) and doped him up with morphine.  Ford got the call that one of the Hueys were gonna fly T-Dog on out to one of the MASH units, but I think we all knew that he wasn’t gonna make it.
> 
> Still, once the dust up had cleared, and we’d found a stream to wash the blood and shit off of us, it hit me why Bob had stopped like that. We’d all heard that preacher, Dr. King give both his speech about America and the one a few months back about sending us boys to Vietnam. You know that in our town we had people doin’ hateful, hateful things, hanging on to hate instead of humanity. But over here? Three white guys could try to comfort a black man in his last moments, and no one thought much of it. No one waved a flag or stuck on some stupid-ass sheets, or called anyone ugly names. Over here, guys aren’t defined by their race. They’re defined by the trust we all have for each other, and honestly big brother, it’s a beautiful thing.
> 
> I can almost hear you shaking your head at me now. But I want you to remember, and maybe think on what I said a little. Bob (his last name is Stookey if you can believe that shit) is a black guy who- back home- ain’t allowed to complete his medical training without a helluva lotta hassle, but I’ll be damned if he’s not the best medic I’ve ever met. Dude’s saved my bacon more times then I can really thank him for.
> 
> Maybe we’re over here fightin’ for the wrong things. Hell. I don’t know. I do know it’s time to get some shut eye before it’s my turn at watch.  Miss you Merle.  See you in a few months, man.
> 
>  
> 
> -Daryl
> 
>   
>    
>    
>    
> 


End file.
